


Boyscout

by Creya



Category: Endeavour (TV)
Genre: F/M, directly following Icarus, season 5
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-09
Updated: 2018-09-09
Packaged: 2019-07-10 06:07:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15943334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Creya/pseuds/Creya
Summary: If the issue was truly important, he always believed it was better to be prepared.





	Boyscout

“Always the gentleman.” She smiled to herself as he collected the wine, glasses, and held the door open for her. She led him up the stairs and out onto the roof to a small bistro set.

He went about pouring the wine while she leaned against the ledge watching his every movement. He was no longer the apprentice boy that had appeared on her doorstep those years ago. Perhaps, she wondered, he never had been. All graceful features and resolute manners had obscured the man beneath. Had he been so wounded then? Had it been the job that cast him into a furnace crucible to melt away the softer edges? She had no interest in examining her own responsibility.

He joined her at the ledge handing her a glass. She turned towards him just as he leaned in. Their fingertips brushing against each other in the transfer. She merely heard her sharp intake of breath before realizing she had taken it. He was too close. Purpose and resolution radiated off him. The smell of fresh linen, citrus and cedar left her lightheaded. She murmured a thank you.

“Miss Thursday,” he began.

She huffed a breath. Determined propriety even when he stood there staring at her like a caged jungle cat. “Is this the part where you spontaneously propose again?” she quipped. The deflection however light still cut him. He stepped back, the spell momentarily broken, and busied himself with pouring his own glass then settling in a bistro chair. She rested her elbows against the ledge behind her, watching his movements. Her good-natured grace stood in relief against the ebbing light.

He managed to force a self-deprecating smile when he looked back at her. “We’ve gotten to the point where that’s a joking matter have we?” He tilted his glass to her before taking a polite sip.

“Always the copper. A question for a question.”

“Fine.” he replied, his wry grin faded into something unreadable. He continued, almost to himself, “It wouldn’t be spontaneous anyway.”

“That seems more your speed,” she gibed. Contingency and preparation seemed requisite for the man always one step ahead of those around him. But there was a slight cock to her head as she looked at him over the brim of her wine glass, a question in her eyes.

“Preparedness is the opposite of spontaneity.” He answered inscrutable, eyes boring into her. There was no hesitancy left in his expression, as though he was daring her to inquire further.

“I understand the word, seem to recall something of the sort from grammar school.” The perplexed look, however, became more prominent across her entire face. “But I’m not sure I take your meaning.” Taciturn though he was, cryptic was something altogether new.

She crossed to the table and fiddled with the wine cork, refilling her glass. He took the opportunity to fish a small blue box out of his jacket pocket, placing it before her. Closed but still prominent against the cast iron latticework table.

“I wasn’t going to be left unprepared again.”

“Christ. You actually…? You really meant it didn’t you?” She put her hand over her mouth. Whether in shock or to prevent any unchecked response, she wasn’t sure.

“I always mean what I say.”

The hand she had at her mouth traveled to pinch the bridge of her nose in exasperation and she let herself drift into the unoccupied chair. “No one is doubting your veracity, Morse.”

“I meant it then. I’d mean it now. I’ll mean it a year from now.” There was a bravado behind his words. She wondered if this was the man other women enjoyed. The charming ease of quick wit and confidence. She had only caught glimpses out of the corner of her eye or from others’ stories. She had never seen this man before because it was too real, too dangerous. Their surety quickly vanished at the sight of each other. There was no going back if they crossed that line between them.

Her eyes darted between his face and the jewelry box like a volley at center court. Misreading her silence he continued, “Do you still think it’s just pity?”

The set of his jaw telegraphed his frustration at the thought.

“When…? Why would you…?”

“Who’s giving questions for questions now?” he asked. Her small derisive snort relaxed the sharpened tension.

“I knew I wanted you well before I asked," he began, voice far away. "The time you were gone felt as if though Persephone had stolen away. Leaving the world unsure as to how to weather an unseasonable winter.” He tilted his head back toward the sky, pain filtering across his features. “But it was that day we stood here on the roof. You standing in the evening sun like a goddess returned. Hurting by hopeful.” He twisted back to level his gaze on her. The intensity of it unmistakable.

She winced at the memory. Her resolve had faded that day when confronted with his. It had been too much. Well more than she could deserve. She had outgrown being the girl enamored with her father’s apprentice. Instead, she had balked at the gravity of it and offered him a different choice instead. Hoping to save him the heartache she’d no doubt bring. In the end, she wasn’t even successful in saving him that.

“It was that moment. I knew I was done for.”

Her mind skipped through the information haphazardly trying to find purchase. “You bought a ring while you were with Claudine.” It was a statement despite the lilt to her voice.

“No. It was my mother’s. I only took to carrying it with me to be prepared next time. Because I always knew…” His voice wavered. The last of his bravado slipping away. He took and held a shaky breath to collect himself. “ _Hoped_...that the opportunity would come again.”

She went to push away her wine glass, fearing any sort of further distraction muddling her senses. “I haven’t heard you actually say the words.”

“That’s because I’m not going to,” he replied.

Her eyes shuttered, and she swallowed hard. The grip on her glass tightened involuntarily. She feared she couldn't hide the trembling in her limbs.

“I’m not asking now, because you’re not ready. Frankly, neither am I.” It was so off-hand and reasonable. He could have been discussing directions to the nearest pub. “But it’s here. Waiting. For when Persephone returns to reign once more.” He took a large draught of his wine. A slight twitch in his shoulders betraying his nerve.

It was her turn to pin him with a stare. “So this makes you Hades in this situation?”

He gave a slight shrug. “I can be patient.”

She could have laughed. Patient was not the word she’d use. He’d always been a day late and penny short when it came to her. The problem wasn’t shyness or hesitance. There were no half measures for him when it truly mattered. There was a subtlety to him that got lost in the modern buzz around them. Bygone gallantry drowned out by instant gratification and free love.

She stood, willing her legs to hold fast, and strode around the table to lean over him gently grabbing his chin between her fingers. She drank in his features up close. Eyes lingering on his pale eyes and parted mouth. She somehow could hear that he stopped breathing over the roaring in her ears.

“You’re right. I’m not ready. I could hardly marry a person that’s never called me by my given name.”

She leaned forward and caught his mouth with her own. He replied breathlessly, gently whispering the sound against her lips.

“Joan.”

**Author's Note:**

> I binged the entire series within a space of a few days, finishing just yesterday. I'm completely smitten. 
> 
> This came from nowhere last night while I was half asleep and demanded to be written. I hope you like it.


End file.
